This I just don't get. If I present an item to my son, on his favourite plate, there's a 50/50 chance of his eating it. If, however, I get the same item and throw it on the floor... 100% certain he'll pick it up and munch away happily. For some reason, toddlers want to put everything in their mouths. So any walk in the park, trip across town or visit to the supermarket is perpetually punctuated with me saying: "Take that out of your mouth! We don't eat off the floor". Leaves, rocks, bits of twig, squashed chips & a whole assortment of litter have all been whisked from his grubby little mitts just before he attempted to eat them. If I'm honest, there have been several times when I didn't get there quickly enough - so these items have had to be wrestled from between stubbornly closed lips. He, of course, thinks this is hilarious - while all I can think of is a potential night of projectile vomiting should he catch some lurgy or other.
I remember his mother and I would discuss, in those oft-remembered (much missed) quiet relaxed evenings before our son was born, television's role in our household. We'd pretty much decided that our offspring would never be sullied by exposure to the telly. Equally he'd never touch sugar, only eat organic and spend his life with well-thought through educationally relevant play. What mugs we were!
Dads do AMAZING things WITHOUT superpowers It's (relatively) easy to save the day if you can fly or walk up the side of buildings. Superheroes (on the whole) are blessed with some pretty nifty abilities that the average person in the street could only dream of. They've got a bit (read 'a lot') of a head start. The thing is, I've seen dads do amazing things with no superpowers whatsoever. OK, OK, what they do might not be as 'showy' as the antics of Messrs Wayne, Kent and Stark - but they're more impressive.
Suddenly a cry rings out, causing a shudder of tiredness to run up my spine and take root in the bags under my eyes. Next, probably by magic, your feet find the floor and you question y our existence. The door opens and a night light illuminates the face of a crying toddler, you smile broadly - pushing back your own desire to cry. Then, tot in arms, you collapse into the chair and break into a droning "Incy Wincy Spider..." as you look at the clock. It's 3 am. But the tot doesn't care about the time. Why? You get your answer as the full flavour of the nappy he's just filled wafts towards you. Happy Birthday.
For our kids, when they are young, we are the entire world. A mindbogglingly important role. It worries me if I think about it too much. In their eyes we, as parents, have almost superhuman abilities. The power to make everything 'OK' is our most potent gift.
Nobody, and I really mean NOBODY is interested in other people's holiday snaps. They are the photographic equivalent of watching Songs Of Praise at your nan's house or uncomfortable chats with taxi drivers - something to be endured and got over with, as quickly as is humanly possible. I'm sorry to say it, but it's the same with other people's kids. We all love our own offspring, we find what they do absolutely fascinating. We talk about them endlessly. We rearrange our entire lives for them. Yet, despite all this, our kids are ONLY of interest to US. For everyone else they are (at best) dull and (at worst) actively irritating.
A Musical Vehicle. Now I'm not suggesting that musical vehicles (like those created by Vtech) were first created by sadists in a diabolical plan to bring misery into the lives of already stressed-out parents. I'm not suggesting that at all. OK, I am suggesting that this might be one possibility.
I feel like one of those highly painted ornamental figures that you see in Bavarian clocks - going round and around in circles on a pre-allotted path every morning. Some day soon I'll find myself clanging a bell and singing some indistinguishable ditty as each quarter hour strikes. Why am I wearing out the pavements? It all comes down to the time of day. Between 10 and 11 EVERY morning, I walk in circles with my son in his buggy. Why? Because this is his 'Nap-time'.
My brush with fame was to take place at the Exeter offices of BBC Devon. From these far from exotic surroundings (sat in a glorified cupboard) I was to link in with show. It was only when I was seated, mic'd and framed for the piece that my stomach sank. I spent the next 30 minutes, looking at 4 monitors each displaying my features as we waiting for the allotted time. Under the harsh lighting (without makeup) I looked like crap. There's no other way of looking at it, I looked like someone who'd just completed a sleep deprivation marathon. I have never seen myself look so old, tired or haggard.
'Life is a roller-coaster' or, at least, that's what the venerable Mr. Ronan Keating once told us. I must admit I'm not a huge fan of the former Boyzone singer's work - just not my cup of proverbial hot liquid. That said, I must agree with the sentiment of his song. Life IS a roller-coaster. … Continue reading Rediscovering Mothers’ Day…